It Wasn't the Rum
by krystal lazuli
Summary: Captain Jack Sparrow and his intrepid crew manage to get lost during a simple voyage between Portugal and Tortuga and find themselves in a strange new world. If you've read my little fictlet, Prelude, this is simply the beginning of the full tale.


"That can't be right!"

Jack stared up at the night sky. The stars were clearly not where they were supposed to be. He focused on the bottle of rum clutched in his fist. Peering into it, he discovered it was empty. Again!

"Why is the rum always gone?" The words echoed in his ears, as there was no one awake to hear them.

As he debated going in search of a fresh bottle, he glanced once more towards the heavens.

"That can't be right," He was adamant now. The bright lights were mocking him as they twinkled above. Nothing was where it ought to be. They were supposed to be heading back towards Tortuga. If that were the case, the arrangement of stars should be significantly different. Instead, they were randomly placed and nothing made sense.

"Bloody stars are all wrong," Then he remembered the empty rum bottle, staring at it then once more towards the sky. Something was wrong, but what? It surely wasn't the rum.

He headed towards his cabin, intent upon finding their location and another bottle of rum. The latter was the easier task so he settled down in his chair and stared at the charts in front of him drinking from the fresh bottle.

He set his compass down on the table and tapped it. Most claimed it didn't work, but he knew better. It would select a heading. Usually. Tonight however even the compass seemed to be off kilter. It would spin, pause and then gyrate wildly some more. He stared at it willing it to choose a heading.

"Tortuga, Tortuga, Tortuga," He chanted the mantra as he stared at the compass willing it to settle on a heading. The compass pin continued to swivel with no intentions of stopping.

"Bugger!" It didn't help to find their location, but it did make him feel better. He tried it again with more force. "Bugger! Bugger, bugger, bugger!" The words snapped from his lips and his fist pounded the table. The compass bounced up and suddenly seemed to settle.

Gleefully, he began to pounce upon it when it returned to its erratic motions.

Leaning back he closed his eyes trying to recall how they had gotten here?

Footsteps sounded outside his cabin followed by a light knock.

"Jack?" Gibbs voice floated into the room.

Sighing heavily, he finally acknowledged him. "Yes? Come on in. I am still awake."

The door creaked open and Gibbs entered hesitantly. "Thought I heard ye complaining."

"Aye," He smiled ruefully at his first mate. "Something is wrong and I can't quite figure it out. The crew will be sure to notice by morning," He pushed the bottle towards Gibbs.

"Wondered what had ye up so late," Gibbs stared at the map. "Figgered out where we be yet?"

"No, and that is the problem. We ought to be in Tortuga by now, but we're not."

"I'd noticed," Gibbs looked at him pointedly, almost as if he were blaming him for their being lost.

"What happened? Last I remember were a few bottles of rum, some lovely woman, some more rum…" Jack's voice trailed off as he reminisced about their recent visit to Portugal.

"Aye there was plenty of rum," Gibbs agreed readily.

"Then it seemed like a fog hit us when we were just two days out."

"That was the rum."

"It was?" Jack looked askance at Gibbs. "Are you certain about that?"

Gibbs nodded sagely. "The rum."

Sighing, Jack shook his head. "If it was the rum, the why are the stars gone?"

"They're not exactly gone, Jack. They are up there," Gibbs pointed up towards the ceiling, then grimaced as he realized they were still in the cabin. "Well, you can see them out there."

"I know you can see them, but they aren't right." Jack was getting peevish now. Gibbs was not being helpful. "You're the first mate. Why are the stars all wrong?" He picked up the almost empty rum bottle. "Can't blame the rum on that," Without pause, he finished off the bottle and stared into it. "Now the rum is gone. Again."

Rising, he headed across the room, the familiar swagger more exaggerated than ever. "Let's go find some more rum. Maybe then the stars will comply."

Gibbs wasn't about to argue with that. So, the two men wandered down to the hold searching out a few fresh bottles of rum. Armed with those, they returned to the main deck.

Jack looked up, "Still wrong."

"You ought to tell them Jack," Gibbs was referring to the crew. At the moment, most were sound asleep.

"In the morning," Jack was resigned. How was he going to tell the crew he, Captain Jack Sparrow, the greatest pirate in the Spanish Main, had gotten them lost? Hopelessly lost. There wasn't enough rum on the ship to explain that away, or to keep them happy.

Dawn broke too early for him. He still had half a bottle of rum and the crew was beginning to stir. He'd watched the heavens all night long. He knew for a fact they weren't in the Caribbean, not even on their way to that lovely destination. Nor were they in the Orient or along the coast of Africa where the infamous East India Trading Company sailed.

Cotton appeared on the deck, his faithful bird perched upon his shoulder. The old pirate yawned, scratching the back of his neck as he began to wake up to the new day. "Lost at sea! Lost at sea!"

Jack groaned as the brightly colored macaw began squawking the news to one and all. "We are not lost at sea!" He retaliated, shaking a finger at the bird. "I know exactly where we are."

By now the entire crew had gathered on the deck and had surrounded Jack. "We are right…" His voice trailed off as he suddenly did indeed spot land. "Here! Land! Look, over there," He pointed off the starboard bow, "Land!"


End file.
